Over Storm and Soul
by waybackup
Summary: After the North's claim to independence brings a settled calm over Sansa Stark there seems to be something preying on her mind. A horrible thought that consumes her every waking moment and fills her dreams with visions of blaze - the mad Queen's presence still resides deep in her soul, and the feeling may just be mutual.


**AN**: Hey all! This is my first ever fanfic. I know, crazy. Posting this chapter to see if anyone actually wants to read a story like this. _Feedback really appreciated!_ Post-finale, duh. Everything is canon except the fact Jon is a fat liar. Second chapter would be from Daenerys POV.

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Sansa had seen the raven hobble onto her windowsill expecting word as it did every other day since the ruler had settled into her region's newfound independence. At dawn she would sit at her desk and scribble various iterations of the same letter, words twisted and bent to her whim dependant on her mood. Additions would be made and taken away, draft after draft sent as if final, seeking an audience that would offer her what she needed. Today's read even more sloppily than the last. The Stark had counted twenty-two of these desperately stamped pages that she had put in circulation around Westeros and all did not bare the fruit she so craved - word from Daenerys Targaryen.

Jon had returned from the ruins of the throne with news of the Queen's disappearance, leaving with only a single utterance to bid him farewell before she made the skies her passage to new life. Murmurs had spread of conspiracy. The Unsullied doubted Jon's anecdote about the decimation of the throne by Daenerys' own will, speaking to her unrelenting hunger that had made King's Landing unrecognisable to even those who frequented it. Sansa did not believe the news either. Jon was unconvincing in his attempts to rewrite the story he himself had witnessed, either to protect his Queen or to protect his own skin. All that remained truthful in her eyes was that Drogon had fled and the body was never found. A chance of a Targaryen's festering rage isolated brought a coldness to her bones.

Perhaps it was just the draft coming in from her window but she felt that still as she wrote. It had become routine now. There was almost a kinship that existed within every stroke of her quill, a familiarity untouched before in the two's interactions. She wrote like a friend. Sansa could never fathom why.

_**Daenerys Targaryen,**_

_**Your title of Queen lasted barely a cycle of the sun, shorter than even the passing of the moon's phases as I predicted. Tyrion Lannister had described the roars of your own men as you stood at the foot of the ruins and proclaimed King's Landing as small victory in a much larger portrait of war and famine that you would leave in your wake. To abandon such a thing seems foolish. A change of heart, perhaps? My heart has stayed steady since your departure. Your presence made it ever so uneasy, an irregular stir in my chest that could not be anguish nor fear. Even as I write now I feel my muscles straining to keep it calm. The blood flows easier but the cost is my undying restlessness.**_

_**Sleep escapes me most nights. My body tosses as if to shake the thought of you operating somewhere far out with my control from my core. I imagine your loneliness as much as I do your intent. This is not a plea to peace but instead an invitation for disclosure. Trust is not a willing participant between us but my secrecy about these letters could be treasonous. My own brother nows rules in your place and he will not favour me if he suspects any conspiracy from The North. Our independence will be seen as a threat as the winters pass. Your existence will never be tolerated. Jon speaks soft but his eyes reveal more than he lets on.**_

_**Our ravens have grown tired of deliverance. This attempted correspondence has gone on for far too long and yet I have no intention of halting. I would wait forever. Do not squander this chance.**_

_**With warmth from the North,**_

_**Sansa Stark**_

A delicate roll followed by the dripping hot wax of the Stark insignia sealed away sets of futile words for another journey which would most likely strike the carrier ill. The journeys were often picked at random from a map that lay marked by her elbow, knowing little about the Queen's journey made this easier. Reckless as she was the pale haired Queen would not choose to go where she would be expected. That Sansa knew with a certainty.


End file.
